


I Think He Needs to Change His Pants

by rocketpool



Series: Nerd Love [5]
Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, cross-posted from LJ, feel good feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-28
Updated: 2009-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketpool/pseuds/rocketpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a matter of both cruelty and love that Eliot knows some things about being a geek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think He Needs to Change His Pants

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head after only 3.5 hours of sleep and would _not_ leave me alone. If I didn't wake up to write it, it would have driven me _mad_. Set pre-Two Live Crew. Props to [](http://cyphersushi.livejournal.com/profile)[**cyphersushi**](http://cyphersushi.livejournal.com/) for saving my brain with the WoW details.

 

  
Making a bow and arrows by hand is an art. It takes a high level of skill, and no small amount of knowledge, especially when done according to the old ways of his heritage. It's peaceful, and soothing, done mostly when he needs time alone, and Eliot sets himself to the work like a man in need of a hobby. He's never had a hobby before, not like this. It's strange. And maybe kinda nice.

But he can't work on it alone forever. Hardison starts wondering if Eliot's avoiding him once he finds a steady rhythm for his whittling. It's annoying, sorta. Eliot's never dated anyone that's needed as much assurance as Hardison does.

So he sets himself up in Nate's living room with some wood and his tools, and on a whim brings some of the completed bits. In theory it was to stave off questions from the sane people, but Nate gives him the funniest look over his coffee ("What are you... Y'know what. I don't care. Just make sure you clean up. I walk around here barefoot.") and Sophie ends up asking him more questions ("But it could help me with the role I'm auditioning for... Pocahontus..."). He'd already figured he'd have to argue with Parker before finally relenting and promising to carve something for her if she'd just _not touch anything goddammit_ , and she doesn't disappoint.

Hardison is the last to wander in, cradling a three-quarters empty two liter of orange soda. They're not on a job, haven't got a job on the line, so it ain't like there was particular _need_ for Hardison to show up. (Eliot was _not worried_ , you understand. Just because the only place he ever found Hardison tended to be at his own apartment or Nate's has nothing to do with it. Which... sounds really strange, when it comes down to it, and really he's going to have to fix that, now that they're in Boston...)

"Eliot... what...?" Hardison blinks a little slowly, like all the connections ain't quite firing. Eliot's seen that look before, and the pieces slide into place.

"Were you raidin' or whatever the hell it is again? I told you, you need more sleep. Y'ain't a kid anymore." Eliot glances up at him, smirk in place, so that even in his mostly unconscious state Hardison can see he's teasing.

"Yeah. Twenty-five man Ulduar... Hard modes..." Eliot kinda nods and smiles. He thinks maybe it's one of the hard ones, but fuck if he actually knows. He wonders if Hardison played with other people this time or if he took all his... toons, or whatever the hell they're called, and did the whole thing alone. Would explain a few things. "Seriously, man, what's... all this...?" Hardison makes a vaguish gesture at his stuff.

Eliot smirks again. He's a bad, bad man after all. "I know you didn't pay much attention in gym class, but you seriously can't tell what this stuff is? Even Parker knows what this stuff is."

Hardison frowns, brain sluggishly plodding along til it can come to an appropriate conclusion. "You're makin' bows an' arrows?" His voice gets squeaky with confusion at the end. Eliot would have called it adorable, if he were the sorta man to call anything besides babies adorable. Instead he nods solemnly. "Why?"

Eliot had to take a moment to keep a straight face, then glanced up at Hardison like he was crazy. "In case of a zombie apocalypse."

Obviously that isn't the response Hardison was expecting. "You... what?"

"To fight zombies?" Eliot says patronizingly.

"See, that's what I thought you said." Hardison's expression implies he either thinks he's dreaming, or in the Twilight Zone.

"In the event of a zombie outbreak, it ain't gonna be easy to get our hands on automatic or semi-automatic weapons that ain't gonna jam. And yeah, I know you've got your thing about preserving ammo and shit, but it's a fallacy to think of it that way. Zombie might not be dead, but it's a hell of a lot harder to come bite you if it ain't got arms and legs." Eliot goes back to whittling all casual like. "And yeah, sure, a titanium baseball bat don't jam or run out of ammo, but it assumes you've let the zombies get fuckin' close enough. The real key to survivin' a zombie apocalypse is takin' the fuckers down before they can reach us."

"So... you made these...?"

"Don't jam, and so long as you can hit what'cher aimin' at, could damn well save yer ass til you _can_ get some good guns."

"I... you..." Hardison swallows hard to try and cover for the whimpering noise he's making. "I'm gonna get some breakfast."

Eliot can't help but chuckle a little wickedly. Sophie doesn't look up from her reading when she says, "That wasn't very nice." Though to be fair, it sounds a lot more like _You naughty boy, you._

He can feel Parker's eyes on him as she peeks up from behind the sofa. (He does not, _does not_ want to know what she's doing over there.) "No, Parker," he says defensively. "Zombies do not actually exist..."  



End file.
